


the flap of a butterfly's wings

by eatthatup



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Dimension Travel, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Parallel Universes, Portals, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-02-29 19:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18784672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatthatup/pseuds/eatthatup
Summary: In every universe, in every lifetime, in every version of reality. Johnny follows a neverending path that leads, ultimately, to Ten.





	1. initial conditions

**Author's Note:**

> hello i'm back!! and this is my first real Real chaptered work. i have never done this, and this is a work i've been meaning to continue working on for a while, and although my first draft was a cyoa fic, i ended up choosing to simply continue it with my own ideas since it'd be too complicated to post an interactive chaptered work!  
> now, onto the plot, this is basically a mix of everything i like, that's why it's partly self-indulgent lol if you ever played life is strange or bioshock infinite, you will notice the amount of concepts from those two i'm using (tho of course you don't have to know anything about these to read this!)  
> i hope you enjoy this and decide to support me!! and i'll try and challenge myself to update this regularly!  
> thanks for reading<3

Flowered and a beige colour, Ten’s couch remains a constant. 

Despite time, childhood accidents, and Bingo’s habit of making it his bed—Johnny takes a seat and feels a warm sensation taking over his body, it’s familiarity and comfort. Ten stares at him, a mischievous look, and settles on the pleated arm of the couch. 

“What are we doing today?” 

It’s a simple question, yet it always prompts a variety of plausible options. Johnny doesn’t mind, he’s entertained enough with watching television all day, but makes an effort to think up a venture. 

“We could—”

“Go to the field? Yes,” Ten cuts him off. 

Johnny is very aware of Ten’s intentions, probably stealing some booze (a hard drink, like  _ vodka _ ) from his grandparent’s cabinet and running away to their hideout. And it’s fun, but Ten’s family has started noticing. It's become a routine that's only pleasurable because of Ten’s presence.

“So, we’re spending the night at the farmhouse?” Following Ten’s movements as he gets up from the couch, Johnny accuses lamely. 

“As always.”

The farmhouse, a rusty and uninhabited residence, in the middle of an open field a few blocks down their neighborhood, had turned into a hideout over the years. A second home. Propelled by Ten’s deep-rooted need to explore, run away, and Johnny’s yielding nature, they had stumbled upon it on a sticky-warm night of summer—after Ten had a fight with his parents and pretended to be unaffected as he climbed into Johnny’s bed.

“What?” Eyes glued together, hair unkempt, Johnny had mumbled, with a pressure on top of his resting body. 

“Wanna go on an adventure?”

To their thirteen-year-old minds, that phrase was a trigger. Setting off for an extensive hunt for that thrill, late at night, tiptoeing around the house. It evolved as they grew up, innocent escapades turning into meaningful getaways that soon involved alcohol and sleepovers. 

Johnny could never oppose to it. Not when Ten’s idle but sentimental rants were so earth-shattering, in ways that made Johnny stay up at night, pondering over their meaning, untils his eyes finally dropped closed. They surely left an impact.

“Do you know what  _ Chaos Theory _ is?” Ten had suddenly asked, eyes never leaving the hand-embroidery hoop he was sewing on. 

“Uh—no,” Johnny, in contrast, completely stopped reading the comic book he was going through to solely focus on Ten. 

“Okay—it's about mathematics, really. But it applies to real life! Like the butterfly effect, and how a small change can disturb completely the course of something, resulting in a larger disaster,” it was somewhat funny how Johnny watched Ten’s mouth move, but none of the sounds he let out were actually being processed by Johnny's brain. Pure nonsense, it was. 

“ _ What _ ?”

“Just imagine something as small as what you had for breakfast today—that choice—and then exchange it for something else.  _ That  _ single action could change your entire life,” smiling to himself, seemingly proud, Ten finished explaining and looked up at Johnny’s narrowed eyes.

“That's crazy,” he said, “you're crazy.” 

“At least I'm smart.”

Ten was right, clearly. Now that Johnny can see it, he's even more amazed at Ten’s intelligence and also questionable ideas. Because no matter how  _ stupid _ they are, it's Ten, so there's not much left to do but to trust him. That's what Johnny does as they near the familiar farmhouse, limbs cramping from walking for long, while carrying a heavy backpack full of snacks and a bottle of  _ vodka _ . 

So Ten guides, Johnny follows. As always. 

The blanketing darkness doesn’t scare them, at least not anymore, instead it becomes rather soothing—their footsteps, the sound of a gentle wind blowing east, and the feeling of tall grass grazing their hands as they make their way to the abandoned place. It’s familiar. 

Looking up at the sprinkled sky, with millions of stars staring back at them (as Ten usually says, since Johnny first confessed his fear of the gloominess of night), Johnny breathes in and then exhales, a clear air, and finally gives in. 

“I know your parents are gonna get mad,” Johnny says. Ten is already smirking, “but I’m really looking forward to that vodka.” 

“Knew it.”

Normally, Johnny isn’t a heavy drinker, as he prefers to enjoy a few beers with friends that barely get him tipsy, but there are times when the situation calls for a hard liquor and a drilling headache in the morning—nights in which both Ten and Johnny laugh carefreely about anything and everything, no gnawing at the back of their heads, no pressure on their chests. Now there’s an empty bottle lying on the ground, almost glaring at Johnny, reprimanding him about school and responsibilities. And his cup filled with a mixture of juice and alcohol talks to him and convinces him to let go. So Johnny does. 

“Did you know that you can fall in love with dogs?”

“ _ Huh? _ ”

“Petting them and gazing into their eyes releases  _ oxy _ - _ oxytocin, _ ” he stumbles over his words and ignores the way Ten giggles both at his state and statement. 

“I’m a cat, so you can’t fall in love with me.” 

It’s absurd, clearly. Johnny knows, Ten knows. That’s the reason they joke about it. Laughter echoes around the emptiness of the farmhouse, though warmth fills their bodies instantly, partly from the alcohol oozing through their veins but mostly the situation. 

(And Johnny is aware he’s blushing. His entire body is hot. There’s no known cause).

“Don’t worry, won’t happen.” 

When drunk, Ten seems to lose an important amount of his usual intelligence, and instead his tongue struggles to form the most basic sentences, preventing him from letting loose the many thoughts racing through his brain. Still, Johnny understands nearly every word he utters, and they seem to stick to him even after he’s sober. 

“Do you think… there’s another me, like, out there?”

Johnny falters for a moment. “No, well… You’re unique.” 

“I know,” Ten wears a smug smile, “I mean like, somewhere else.” 

“ _ What? _ ”

“Nevermind,” resting his entire body on the couch, Ten mutters, “can you make me some  _ ramyeon _ ?”

“Can’t you do it yourself?” Johnny doesn’t roll his eyes, but the tone of his voice is enough to let Ten know that he’s incredibly tired. Or, well, drunk. 

“ _ Please _ ,” he pouts. Johnny is a weak man. “I don’t know how to use that old-fashioned stove.” 

Pointing at the handmade kitchen (a stove Johnny found in his grandparents’ garage, a rice paddle that was ditched once, and a pot), Ten juts out his lips again and Johnny simply sighs, complying almost instantly. It’s hard to counter him, really. Cute things are Johnny’s downfall.  
  
“Just because I can’t handle you drunk  _ and  _ grumpy,” Johnny attempts to justify himself, although to no avail, because the smirk Ten seems to have engraved on his face only reminds Johnny of how weak-kneed he is. 

He reaches for Ten’s backpack and rummages through it in search of the supposed packet of instant  _ ramyeon _ —but there’s nothing left inside. 

“Are you sure you brought it?” 

“Yes,” Ten nods, “wait.  _ Oh _ .” 

His heavy-lidded eyes shut close in frustration and his cherry-red mouth lets out a groan. Johnny shakes his head to himself and then proceeds to hold off the sudden urge to throw up. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. 

“Let’s go back then,” sitting back against the rusty couch, Johnny suggests. Of course, Ten doesn’t budge, merely shakes his head and furrows his brows to show Johnny that he’s not up to that idea. “Okay. If you find some I’ll cook it for you.”

That, apparently, piques Ten’s interest, a soft smile curving his lips, almost reaching his eyes.    
  
“Thank you!”

Johnny is sure some things are meant to be, to  _ happen _ . He’s not exactly a firm believer of destiny, but partly trusts that the course of his life is already written and although some changes can be done—it’s already typed and printed. So once Ten is out of his field of view and five minutes later a high-pitched yell startles him, Ten’s words haunt him as he makes his way towards the source of the sound. 

Life is weird. Specially when you’re drunk, about to throw up, and with a menacing headache throbbing at the back of your head. Life, reality, whatever is currently in front of his eyes, is  _ weird _ . 

“What’s  _ that _ ?” Johnny murmurs. Ten continues to stare, mouth agape and wide-eyed. There’s a strong light coming from beside one of the old boxes where they used to store food, dazzling, blinding. All sorts of synonyms for the clearest shade of white Johnny has ever seen.    
  
“I’m too drunk for this.”   
  
They are, Johnny convinces himself. They are drunk and seeing  _ things _ . It burns just slightly, like staring for too long at a lightbulb, but their eyes remain glued to it, similar to a distorted halo—it stretches broadly and glows incessantly. 

“Touch it,” encouraging him, Ten hides behind his shoulders, and pushes him gently towards it. “It’ll disappear.” 

In a way, Ten is right. If their minds came up with it, as soon as they confirm its falsehood, the illusion will vanish, and they will laugh about it. As always. Though there’s a course, a path. And Johnny, seemingly, isn’t part of it. 

Now, he’s scared of light. 

“You’re the worst,” Ten grumbles, walks towards it confidently, and his figure appears to be swallowed by the mystifying luminescence for a moment. Johnny attempts to make sense of it; maybe a lamp or a lantern that fell when Ten, clumsy as he is, started rummaging through the dated stuff, and while it doesn’t explain the odd shape and gleam, it helps soothe his nerves. It lasts seconds. 

“What—”

A second, that stretches infinitely, that appears neverending, in which Johnny watches Ten disappear in front of his eyes, engulfed by light, and then his hand is gripping onto his arm firmly, securely, pulling him back. Out. 

Though, the only thing that comes out, is the sickening liquids inside Johnny’s stomach, splashing onto the ground and his own clothes. Truthfully, Johnny can’t fathom if a minute passed, or an entire hour. There’s black dots clouding his vision that he’s aware shouldn’t be there. 

There’s the dirty couch, the empty bottle of alcohol, the pot on top of the stove, and Ten’s olive backpack. 

And Ten isn’t there. 

“Ten?” 

His own voice echoes around the place, mockingly. It’s the only audible sound (besides the threatening wind outside, and Johnny’s heavy breathing). 

“It isn’t funny, Ten, c’mon,” he continues, forcing a laugh to convince a supposedly hidden Ten that the joke is already  _ over _ . “Let’s go back, I need to change.” 

No answer can be heard, no rustling or strange light, only Johnny and his own thoughts. His own voice and heart. If he must make sense of the situation—Ten’s pranking nature can be blamed, his constant teasing that seems to worsen as alcohol blends with his blood, taking it  _ too  _ far sometimes. At least, as Johnny’s brain processes every single reasoning that he presents very slowly, it’s plausible. 

Maybe he turned on a flashlight, pretended to be surprised, made Johnny nearly pee his pants, and then fled. Maybe he’s home, comfortable in bed already, while Johnny is racking his brain for a convincing explanation. Not out of this world,  _ possible _ . Close to reality. 

Reality is what Johnny wants to be close to. 

The walk back to his house without Ten and in wet clothing is beyond exhausting, every minute that passes only makes Johnny feel worse. Mentally and physically. His limbs scream for him to find a bed and lie down, and his brain demands for an urgent full night of  _ sleep _ . Which would be ideal, yet Johnny isn’t so sure of pleasantly dozing off when he still doesn’t know what happened.  

**Johnny** **  
** _ Please letme know where you are _

**Johnny  
** _ I hatre your unfunny pranks  
_ _ If you wake up before me come to my place _

Texting is never enough, not in a situation like this. But Johnny decides that for today,  _ tonight _ , that will do. His overworked and alcohol-filled brain is unable to come up with any more interpretations of the situation, and as soon as his head flops on the pillow, he’s  _ out _ . 

A course of events, a path that Johnny unknowingly follows.

Next morning, Ten disappears. 


	2. nonlinear system

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm updating!!!! i hope you enjoy this update as much as i'm enjoying writing this <3 if you're still interested/reading thank you so much, hope i don't disappoint!   
> song for this chapter: lavender - two door cinema club

Johnny wakes up with a excruciating headache.

Not used to the pain, and suddenly welcomed by the strong sunlight flooding his bedroom, he has to swallow down the urge to vomit (which would be pointless—given the emptiness of his stomach, and the rumbling sound that follows once his eyes are fully open). Johnny reaches for his phone on the bedside table, and after blindly patting the surface, gets a hold of it and unlocks it.

11:11 a.m. No messages from Ten.

He scrolls through useless notifications from apps that Ten himself downloaded onto his phone (like an astrology one that reads:  _ Worrying is just an attempt to control all that is uncontrollable in your life _ ), and then sends another message. Triple texting is only acceptable under the circumstances he is, so Johnny hopes Ten is compassionate enough to not block him once he reappears. 

“Good morning,” as Johnny pads to the kitchen, his mother starts, “why are you up so late?”

“It's Saturday, sorry,” he mumbles, “been tired all week.”

A soft smile takes over her face, making the weight on Johnny's chest a bit lighter, prompting a smile of his own. Yet, there's still a sinking feeling that doesn't allow him to look at food the same way he does every morning—and the rice with red and black beans his mother is cooking isn't as appealing. 

Johnny's stomach  _ growls _ . It's a dead giveaway.

“Eat up,” the bowl of rice is placed in front of him, along with some radish  _ kimchi _ . Ten instantly comes to mind.

“I need to do something first—”

His mother raises her eyebrows before he can continue. 

“Ten hasn't been answering my texts so… I'm worried,” Johnny lets out a faint but tremulous sigh that draws her eyebrows together. 

“ _ Who _ ?”

So it shatters.

His heart, his soul, it all leaves his body in a solid and swift plunge. Ever since last night, Johnny's been extremely sensitive to any distortion in reality whether it's on purpose or simply  _ real _ , and his mother’s words push that same out-of-body feeling towards the forepart of his mind. Shivering, sweating, it all washes over him abruptly, and Johnny is sure his entire face must be the palest shade of white. 

“You're kidding, right?” A cruel joke, it would be. 

“I don't get what you're saying—should I know him?” 

Staring at his hands on his lap, Johnny notices the way they tremble and unconsciously pick at the dead skin on his fingernails. It's not exactly a habit he likes to have. 

“Mom, I'm not in the mood, I'm worried and—”

“Sorry, sorry,” she reassures him as she approaches him where he sits slumped over the table and circles her arms around him. Johnny breathes a sigh of pure relief, and blood starts flowing once again. “I should pay more attention! Next time bring your new friend over and let me meet him.” 

It doesn't last long. And Johnny can't fathom the depth of her statement. Can't allow it to be real.

Johnny chooses to ignore it, and pretend nothing ever happened. If he's losing his mind, then no one should notice. “Y-yeah, uh, I'll be back—in a few.”

Stumbling over his words and feet, Johnny somehow manages to get up even as his entire body continues vibrating, not in a good way. His knees feel like jelly, wobbly,  _ weak _ , as if every step he takes could be the last one. 

(In a way, it could be, Johnny doesn't know anymore). 

Yet no matter how unsteady he is, how confused and utterly disoriented, there's a clear goal in his mind. Ten seems to take over. So in the fraction of a second, he finds himself in front of Ten’s house, wide-eyed and panting with his heart in hand (it beats erratically, fast. It’s worrying). Johnny doesn’t waste any time in ringing the doorbell, impatiently bouncing his leg.

Ten’s mother emerges from behind the door. 

“Hey!” She greets as soon as they make eye-contact and Johnny gives her a small bow and soft smile, although his empty stomach and shaking hands don’t help hiding his evident nervousness. 

“Hey, uh, is Ten home?” Keeping a stutter at bay, Johnny swallows the palpable lump in his throat and attempts to appear as normal and composed as possible. 

“Tern?”

Johnny’s face falls. 

“Ten.” 

“I think you might be confused…” She grimaces but masks it with a polite smile. “Is everything okay?” 

Confused isn’t exactly how Johnny would describe his current state. His palms are sweating, even as a gentle and cool breeze engulfs his body and rustles the fallen leaves at his feet, his eyes shift uneasily, alert to every sound in his surroundings, and his heart pounds; in his chest, ears, hands. There’s a rhythmic pressure everywhere, a reminder. 

“I—it’s okay,” Johnny gives in, “may I come in?”

“Of course!”

At first, it all seems to be normal. There’s the flowered and beige couch, Bingo’s small bed (where he should be sleeping instead of the couch, or their beds), and the typical aroma of Ten’s mother’s delicious food in the making. Feels like home, almost. 

There’s a voice asking about his mother that falls mute to his ears, drown out, fading into the background once Johnny focuses on the portraits hanging on the wall. He’s used to them, passing by on his way to Ten’s bedroom, laughing and using them as blackmail. Now it’s different. 

Now, Ten doesn’t exist. 

Three-year-old Tern poses happily without an older brother holding her. His mother and sister smile at the camera, and there’s no one on the other side. Ten is nowhere on the pictures, and Johnny’s heart beats so fast he can only expect it to burst. Explode. It’s not excitement but pure fear. Ten simply doesn’t  _ exist _ . 

So Johnny might have officially lost his mind.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Youngho?” It’s the only question Johnny manages to catch. It doesn’t fill him with comfort as it used to. 

“Yes, yes,”  _ No _ , he wants to say. Forcing a smile, gulping and swallowing the many things he wants to ask. “Sorry, I’m—I should leave.”

Ten’s mother frowns just slightly, showing concern, but doesn’t utter a thing and allows Johnny to flee with tears welling up. They stay there, though, no matter how much Johnny wants to curl up into a ball and let it all out. There is no time. (Or so Johnny guesses. He hasn’t given up yet). He walks at a fast pace, nearly running at moments, a clear objective in mind—the farmhouse. That’s where he last saw Ten, that’s where they mainly meet. That’s where Johnny hopes Ten was just hiding all along.

A clear path, a known and familiar one. Johnny follows it like they both did last night. The differences make his skin crawl, goosebumps that break across his flesh whenever he thinks of Ten’s smile, his provoking jokes and joyous laugh. 

No matter how many times he pinches himself Ten doesn’t appear. Johnny doesn’t wake up in his room with twenty eight messages from Ten complaining about his hangover. It all remains the same. 

Even the farmhouse.

Exactly as they left it. A tad messy, but not enough to consider it dirty—one bottle on the ground, two empty bags of snacks, and Johnny's jacket discarded on the rusty old couch. It all makes him feel out of his mind. Perhaps it’s the lack of traces from Ten, as if Johnny had been alone last night. (As if Ten never existed). Or how he seems to be the only one to  _ know _ . Remember. 

Johnny pinches himself again. 

After investigating the place with trembling legs, resulting in even less clues about Ten’s whereabouts and even more bewilderment about the situation, Johnny nearly gives up, sighing and staring at the wooden and feeble ceiling. There’s a light reflecting on the surface. 

That’s hope. (Now Johnny isn’t scared of it). 

He approaches the source of light carefully, inspecting it closely since he’s not drunk nor surprised. Though the strange phenomenon is still puzzling, Johnny’s heart only beats faster at the thought of Ten. Hazy images of the night before fill his mind instantly, the dazzling halo engulfing Ten and then vanishing entirely, the geometrical and peculiar shape of the outworldly object, it all appears to be the same. A constant.

Now Johnny is in Ten’s position, and he doesn’t fear for his life. 

It’s a decision that he consciously makes, when he reaches out and tentatively attempts to touch the white and fierce gleam. It’s a decision that lasts less than a second, maybe, in which time seems to stop, his heart misses a beat—and once Johnny blinks, it’s gone. His body doesn’t feel different, doesn’t tingle or shake like he expected, his eyes don’t hurt from the incandescent light that now disappeared. 

And he’s back at the farmhouse. 

Disappointment sets low in his stomach, along with the worries he was already carrying, and the fear of such a confusing event. Ten is still nowhere to be seen, and Johnny is starting to get impatient. 

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself as he begins to pace around. 

There’s a change. 

A variation. An alteration. Johnny has to step back and gulp as soon as he notices that the farmhouse is as abandoned as it should be. The couch isn’t there anymore, a film of dust on the ground takes its place instead, and the different items they’ve been bringing since they first discovered the place are gone. Not even the decaying stove, or the hidden packages of  _ ramyeon _ , or the box where they stored stuff (nor the strange light beside it). They've never been there, it seems.   


Every excuse Johnny attempts to come up with isn’t sustainable anymore. It isn’t a neverending lucid dream, nor an eternal delusion—it remains an unexplainable incident that Johnny isn’t so sure he wants to  _ explain _ . 

Perhaps he doesn’t exist, either. 

Getting back on his feet feels easier now, somehow. Johnny is determined to find Ten, no matter how exhausting it might get, and then hopefully wake up from whatever state he is. Hopefully, it’s all a figment of his imagination.    


Johnny explores the surroundings tentatively, cautiously, scared to miss anything, afraid of what he might come upon next. Seemingly, the field enclosing the farmhouse keeps its appearance, and it doesn’t take Johnny much to find his way back. Following the disguised path, almost nonexistent, given by the lack of hustle around the spot, he makes it to the main street. It’s his town, just as it has always been. 

The difference is that Ten isn’t there anymore. 

His house, in the distance, gives Johnny a sense of comfort, as if he’s not entirely lost—and once he discerns Ten’s home, too, relief fills his body. Although it doesn’t mean he’ll find Ten inside, and everything will be back to normal, it’s still easing. 

Decisively, Johnny advances towards the familiar and traditional house, and his sinking heart gets steadily lighter. Hope is something he yearns for, so once it’s presented in front of him, Johnny sticks to it. Like glue, like wax, like a leech. Johnny’s sanity is now hanging by a thin thread, so the tiniest drop of hope is enough for him, to give him enough strength to adapt to a rather quick pace and stride to Ten’s door. 

Johnny knocks and expects the world. He’s welcomed by just that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on [tw](https://twitter.com/ten__wv)!


	3. branch I - I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god finally i'm updating i'm so sorry!!! i know i said i wanted to write this with no pressure but damn i Need to get this out even if no one is pressuring. anyways i hope you enjoy this chapter is longer and there's a new character and there's quite a lot going on! i hope slowly y'all begin to understan what this is about.
> 
> thank you so much for reading!!! [let me know what you think](https://curiouscat.me/eatthatup)!

Ten stands in front of him wearing the softest smile. A single tear falls as soon as Johnny crashes against him and his arms circle around Ten’s warm body.

He's home.

“ _ Where _ were you?” Against the slope of Ten’s neck (having to bend down), Johnny laments. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I was… right here,” Ten simply replies, chuckling. Johnny’s heart seizes up. “Are  _ you  _ okay?” 

Swiftly, he pulls away and notices Johnny’s damp cheeks, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. The pure happiness that appeared as soon as he made eye-contact with Ten gradually vanishes as it starts piecing together and Ten grasps onto his shoulders.

“What's wrong, hyung?”

His sweet voice doesn't help at all. Johnny's heart is a dead weight.

“You disappeared, you—I came here and,” a hiccup, “y-you were nowhere to be seen. Every portrait on your walls was just your mom and—”

Then Ten’s arms are around him again, holding him tightly, firmly,  _ securely _ . Johnny feels safe, but the feeling of Ten being gone has been carved into his brain, no matter how comforting his embrace is. 

“It was a dream, calm down,” Ten reassures him with a hand on his back, “I'm here.”

Johnny doesn't trust his word.

“It  _ wasn't _ a dream,” the way he nearly whines makes him ashamed of himself, “I pinched myself, ever since we discovered that weird light, nothing changed. I haven't—I didn't wake up.”

“Well, you're awake now, hyung,” as always, Ten counters, same childish tone and at all. It brings back memories that flood Johnny with wistfulness. “You usually have like, vivid dreams. Don't worry, it was a… bad one. I'm here.”

It's hard believing in something that requires him to give up completely on his memories and own experiences. Complicated, really. That same emptiness, as if his stomach had dropped so low it completely vanished, takes over him. It's not easy to admit the absurdity of what Johnny was convinced was real, of what he went through in the span of a day—but Ten’s reasoning brings more comfort than anything else, so Johnny believes him, and gulps as to keep his vulnerable heart hidden. 

“Okay,” he whispers.

“You can sleep over today so you can see I'm  _ here _ ,” Johnny looks straight at Ten with crystals in his eyes, and Ten speaks with honey on his tongue. 

“Thank you,” disentangling his body from Ten’s, Johnny finally breathes in pure air, his throat letting up. There's no time to overthink the meaning of his dreams or the reason behind them—at least with Ten beside him, Johnny can't afford to waste time.

Maybe it was a warning, hidden in the back of his mind, that manifested in a dream. And now Johnny simply can't imagine himself without Ten.

-

Ten’s room looks exactly like last time Johnny was there. A tad messy but not exactly dirty, scattered pieces of clothing across the bed, and a few coloring pencils along with newspaper cutouts for the art journal Ten keeps. (It's a mix of artistic collages and descriptions of his day in a poetic way. Sums Ten up perfectly). The pictures pinned on the wall all contain the three members of his family, and Johnny’s eyes water again once he notices the polaroids where he's the protagonist, scribbles on his face that he recalls vividly. One detail Johnny doesn't remember very well is the first picture, with Johnny winking at the camera, and one kid from the neighborhood called Yuta behind him. There's a heart drawn on top. And Johnny is having a hard time piecing it together.

Yuta moved to Japan as they turned fifteen and Ten was still fourteen. Together, they had become sort of a trio, but as any triangle—Johnny and Ten formed a stronger bond. Always together, always in sync, Yuta became an outsider that didn't feel the need to intrude. So their friendship was rather superficial and restricted mainly to school. There weren't many moments in which the three of them chatted the evening away, eating snacks and then pausing to allow a comforting silence to blanket them. (Because that was,  _ is _ , his and Ten’s thing). 

Though, as Johnny shrugs it off, and continues staring at the belongings around Ten’s room just to make sure, there's a drop of a strange feeling that he can't brush aside.

(Johnny knows it's mere and dumb jealousy).

“Stop inspecting my room,” standing by the door, Ten scolds him, “you're all  _ tense _ , sit down for a bit.”

“Sorry, I—needed to check.”

“Isn't my presence enough?” 

With a cheeky grin, he turns around and disappears (to the kitchen, Johnny hopes), and so finally Johnny is given the time and space to breathe out and take it all in. Ten exists,  _ they  _ are real, and the most evident aspects of their lives, at least, seem to be under control. Now, his shoulders drop. Now, pure air is welcomed into Johnny’s lungs. 

The comfort of Ten’s bed is enough to send him into short daydreaming, as Johnny closes his eyes and rests against the soft mattress. Inside his brain, a fleeting thought about Ten’s familiar smell soothing him makes its way, and it’s so  _ weird  _ it makes him physically shake his head. 

Ten walks in just in time. 

“I didn’t tell you to sleep, old man,” this kind of banter is what Johnny needed, exactly. To know that he’s back. 

“I  _ wasn’t _ ,“ he counters although it’s useless, “just resting my eyes.”

The bed dips beside him. Ten is still a human heater. “Right, right. Wanna watch a movie?” 

Despite not being able to concentrate, still experiencing residues of that dreamy, supernatural feeling, Johnny nods enthusiastically. It’s Ten, so there’s no way he’s going to deny any of his requests. 

“You choose it.” 

“That dream really affected you, huh?” 

It did, but Johnny has always been a weak man. He guesses the thought of losing Ten forever influenced him more than he could’ve ever predicted. (It’s no surprise, though, Johnny just prefers not to think too much about certain things). 

“I'm gonna get something to drink,” Johnny comments completely ignoring Ten’s statement, and swiftly makes a beeline for the door. 

Ten laughs, “you're not slick.” Johnny is too far away to hear the rest.

There's always details to a bigger picture, clues that lead to a path, steps to take blindly and allow destiny to do the rest. Johnny figured he had managed to escape that, being on his own and finally making decisions that don't feel crucial or  _ fateful _ , but as Ten had mentioned before; a small change can alter the course of something entirely, resulting in a large disaster. And Johnny guessed his time to face the consequences hadn't arrived yet.

It is, or was, a matter of time.

The glass filled with water, for some reason, remains in his hand even as Johnny's entire body freezes from head to the tip of his fingers, and it's impossible to move or react despite his best efforts. Numbly, Johnny blinks once, twice,  _ thrice _ . In front of him, Ten’s couch is a dull, gray color, and no matter how many times he tries to shake his head, make that flowered pattern appear—it doesn’t. There are no stains, no beige shades, no  _ memories _ . Again, a dizzying feeling overtakes him, but he still attempts to think up of a logical explanation. 

Because, clearly, there must be. A mistake, another dream, a sudden and last-minute change of cover. 

Johnny opts to ignore it, considering the many times he’s been through this in such a short period of time. At this point, he knows panicking does no good. Yet, although Johnny gulps (harshly, with small tears in his eyes) and manages to move, there’s still that eerie feeling stuck to him like glue. 

Now reality isn’t real. 

He takes a sip of water as he mentally prepares himself to face Ten with shaking eyes, well aware of Ten’s perception skills and the string of questions that will surely follow. And maybe, Johnny thinks, he should do it himself—ask Ten every question he has in hopes of clearing it all up, get rid of the uneasiness, and figure out what is actually happening. It’s easier said than done, he knows. Simply staring at the door without stepping in has his heart racing, because he’s aware of every detail, every word, every inaccuracy with what Johnny is  _ certain  _ of.

The carpet underneath his feet doesn't look quite as it used to, and his socks sport a hole that wasn’t there before. (Is it real, or his imagination?)

Coming from Ten’s room, the  _ Netflix  _ opening sound reminds him that he’s supposed to be functioning. Brings him back to reality, in a way. Johnny walks in and notices Ten already chose a movie, but the title doesn’t ring a bell.

“What are we watching?” He manages to say.

“Romance.” 

“Not very  _ you _ , right?”

It sounds strained, forced, Johnny is aware. But he can’t help it, not when there’s a lump in his throat fighting to come out, muffling Johnny’s words. He needs, like his life depends on it (and it maybe does, really), to get a confirmation that  _ this  _ Ten is  _ his  _ Ten. 

“I know, but there’s a first time for everything,” he lets out a small laugh and Johnny breathes, finally. Relief, or whatever it is. “It’s not  _ fully  _ cheesy though, it’s about some weird shit, like—parallel universes or something.” 

Johnny’s blood turns into ice.

“Weird?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m not very fond of it.”

Instantly, every conversation about similar topics come to mind. Ten’s fascination and fervor when talking about it, his infinite knowledge and random facts he stores for sleepless nights. It doesn’t make sense, none of it makes  _ sense _ . So Johnny decides to go for it. 

“Did your mom change the couch’s cover?” He suddenly asks. Ten frowns. “Did you clean the farmhouse? Where is  _ our  _ stuff?” 

“Hyung, what—”

“Since when do you think the butterfly effect is  _ weird _ ? You always talk about it, about every kinda-supernatural things! It doesn’t make any sense, Ten,” his breath becomes uneven as he spits everything out, and by the end of it he’s panting. Johnny knows it’s not simply by talking fast, it’s his heart and body and soul short-circuiting. It’s realizing that he’s not in control anymore, that he can’t trust himself nor what he sees.

“Okay,” Ten stands up, “calm down. It’s okay. Trust me.” 

Everything said becomes simple background noise. 

“I can’t, this—Ten I can’t  _ lose  _ you,” there are tears already sliding down his cheeks, like crystals, like diamonds, except they only represent how  _ worthless  _ Johnny feels. Yet, he’s not ashamed, it’s only the urgent need to pour it all out and find a quick explanation that will appease every sorrow. 

“Hyung, hey, you won’t,” hands sweetly caress his shoulders. Johnny can’t shake the eerie feeling off. “I’m  _ right  _ here. Focus on that.”

Johnny recalls a similar situation (without the extreme panic of disconnecting from reality). A time where their worries were simply starting High School and facing teenage drama, a time where Johnny was in love and hurting. 

After coming back from school, his girlfriend at that time had broken things off via text. That message dropped on Johnny so abruptly it could’ve almost matched the sudden emptiness he’s been experienced since the night Ten disappeared—almost, because Johnny cried about it and lamented it silently, and then a week later, tears had already dried and his lips were allowing smiles again. 

It had been all because of Ten, really. 

The moment Johnny panicked and called him because reality was being harsh, because love was a lie, because it was  _ absurd  _ to break up over a text message. Ten was right beside him in minutes, a hand on his back, another on his shoulder, a warm presence. He talked Johnny out of it, nicely, calmly, with such a soft voice Johnny remembers he had fallen asleep that night only by listening to Ten babbling about his day in order to distract him. 

“I’m  _ right  _ here. Forget about Jiyeon for a while and focus on this moment,” Ten had said. 

To this day Johnny is convinced Ten is more than a best friend. He’s a soulmate and a constant in his life. (And that’s the reason why feeling as if he lost Ten psychs him out). 

“I know,” his lips curve, unconsciously, making Ten smile back. “But I don’t understand. I don’t—what do I do if what I  _ know  _ isn’t  _ real _ ?”

Ten grimaces slightly, “you think it through calmly. Forget about it for now and let’s focus on the movie, okay?” 

All Johnny can do is nod. “Okay.”

“You can tell me about it later, rant or something.” 

Focusing isn’t exactly something Johnny is able to do, but he buckles down to it and attaches his eyes to the screen of Ten’s laptop, although all he wants to do is stare at Ten and hope he turns around and confesses it’s been a cruel joke all along. It would be ideal. However, as he munches on his bottom lip, Johnny slowly gets into the plot, his bouncing leg gradually ceasing and the urge to do something vanishing for the time being. 

The start is easy to follow, not exactly entrancing, but as soon as the main character misses her train and the movie takes a somewhat dark turn, Johnny is engaged. Now it rings a bell, how there are two different timelines, universes, or whatever they are—all because of a single decision. An insignificant event. Johnny scoots closer, interested but also searching for Ten’s warmth, and pays close attention to how it all turns out. He doesn’t know if he  _ forgets  _ about it, given that the movie only reminds him how his life is becoming precisely what he’s watching, but in the blink of an eye the screen goes black and Ten is talking before Johnny can process it all. 

“It was nice… Right?” He lets himself fall back against the mattress and motions for Johnny to do the same. Though Johnny has the decency to place the laptop on top of the desk before laying down. “Do you feel better?”

Johnny is left observing the polaroids again. If he does it one more second he’s sure he’s going to stare holes into them. “Huh?”

“I guess you do…” Ten closes his eyes and sighs contently, and once Johnny turns around the same emptiness, ironically, fills his stomach. 

“I don’t know,” he says, “I don’t know, Ten. I just know it wasn’t just a dream.”

“What did you dream?” 

“I told you it wasn’t—” Ten opens his eyes and glares at him. “Well, you kinda disappeared, it was weird. We were drinking at the farmhouse and a strong light suddenly appeared, and  _ of course _ you had to check it out, and it just—swallowed you.”

Clearly, Ten had to let out a loud laugh. “Are you  _ kidding  _ me? That’s, like, literally something that would happen in a dream. You’re so dumb.” 

“It isn’t just that,” Johnny states firmly. It’s as if Ten is consciously ignoring the fact that he was crying two hours ago and the great panic Ten found him in not once, but two times. “Your couch is not gray. The farmhouse isn’t empty and abandoned, it’s  _ our  _ place—Ten, you love stuff like The Butterfly Effect or, Chaos Theory, and the polaroid—”

“Hyung, you’re like, all over the place because of a dream,” and God, Johnny is so frustrated he might cry again, “I’m not even aware of my own couch, hyung, it’s a  _ couch _ . It’s gray, whatever, dreams are not an exact copy of reality!” 

“But—”

“Listen, you can dream up a farmhouse, a couch, another me, like, I have no idea how dreams work,” at that, he gulps. Ten once explained dreams to him. “But it’s normal to wake up and get it all mixed up, I guess. I once dreamed I texted my ex and woke up desperate to delete it. You just need to come back down to  _ reality _ , hyung.” 

Sighing, Johnny still attempts to explain himself. To demonstrate that he’s positive he wasn’t dreaming. “I  _ pinched  _ myself.”

“And so you’re just, basing all of this on the fact that you _ pinched yourself _ ?” Once Ten frowns, Johnny knows he might’ve not done a good job at justifying himself. But it’s all he has. 

“It felt real, Ten, I swear, I only went to sleep after it happened—God,  _ please  _ believe me,” he pleads. Now he’s ashamed.

“Okay, okay,” Ten leans up on his elbows and stares at him. “Let’s make a deal then.”

“What?”

“Let’s get some rest,” he suggests, “you’re staying over, no buts. I’ll let my mom know once she’s back, but I promise you, hyung—once you wake up, you’ll  _ know _ .”

“I can’t, I need to—I don’t know, figure this out,” his words get muffled by his own hands as he presses them against his face, scrubbing his tired eyes and massaging his throbbing head. 

“No you won’t,” Ten grabs the blanket from the bottom of the bed and gently tucks Johnny in, “you are gonna sleep. It’s an order.” 

Johnny raises his eyebrows. “I’m an adult.” 

“Okay, and?”

It makes him want to spill the non-existent tears he has left, the way Ten’s teasing tone feels familiar and close to him. He wants nothing but to listen to it until he falls asleep and pretend that, for now, he’s  _ home _ . 

“Talk to me, then,” Johnny says.

“What?”

“Tell me about your day or something, just, talk.” 

Although Ten sends him a puzzled look, he doesn’t protest. He lays on his back and allows strings of words to come out and form stories, a lullaby, no matter how loud and excited he gets at times recalling past days (that Johnny doesn’t pay attention to, for the sake of his health and attempt at sleeping), Ten’s voice is liquid honey sliding into his ears. Warm and cozy, like he’s known his entire life. 

Johnny falls asleep with a smile on his face. 

-

Muffled voices replace the comfort Johnny had fallen asleep with. 

It disrupts the peaceful state inside his unconscious mind and once he fully wakes up, Johnny starts handling the many red flags that pop up. Firstly, he notices he’s in the same room as last night. Or at least, it appears to be. Same cover, same color and pictures on the walls. Ten’s laptop is still where Johnny left it, and so he breathes. 

(He’s only glad things haven’t switched overnight, even as this Ten is slightly different). 

Beside him there’s a lack of warmth that indicates Ten must’ve woken up hours ago, if Johnny is guessing right. This allows him to get up slowly and to look around without getting scolded, which is exactly what he keeps on doing once his feet begin to work. Pictures, clothes, even the furniture, are all seemingly insignificant objects that could possibly reveal more of what Johnny is failing at realizing. Ten maintains the same style, baggy shirts and fake glasses, tons of earrings (Johnny notes he keeps them in the same box, and it brings a sense of victory), and mostly black clothing. On the desk, Ten keeps an organized mess of notebooks and books that, evidently, Johnny doesn’t recognize—except the small art journal Ten takes everywhere. Part of him is screaming at him to open it and check it out, go through some pages, and the other is already lecturing him about privacy and  _ limits _ . 

Johnny opens it anyway. 

The first page that he lands on is a very detailed rose that makes Johnny's jaw drop and let out a gasp, Ten drew it all himself, shaded it and then painted it red with what seems to be watercolor. It reminds Johnny of the incredibly talented person Ten is (in every universe, his brain adds). Then the second is a bit more abstract, odd shapes that strangely form a flower of sorts when looked from a certain distance, and below there is an array of butterflies that appear to be simple doodles, though they are far from scribbles to Johnny. 

Not only because Ten is an amazing artist, and so everything he’d consider to be just a sketch is a museum-worthy piece, but because it pushes a sinking feeling down his throat to his stomach again. 

Johnny turns the page and there’s a portrait taped to it. 

He recognizes the face, at least at first. The drawing’s eyes are deep, alluring. They stare back at Johnny, and before he can focus on the rest of the detailed person—there’s a sudden and deafening noise coming from outside Ten’s room. 

It gives him no time to overanalyze, really, no matter how much, in hindsight, Johnny wishes he did. 

Johnny walks into the kitchen wearing a worried expression, following the source of the sound and hushed voices, expecting to find Ten and probably his mom. Some kind of situation where Ten’s mom is reprimanding him about whatever he dropped, and Johnny would step in and it’d all be back to normal. A situation where Johnny’s heart doesn’t plunge into the deepest part of his body and drags every other vital organ along. 

A situation where Johnny doesn’t find Nakamoto Yuta in Ten’s kitchen, pouting at him while closing the distance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on [tw](https://twitter.com/ten__wv)!


	4. branch I - II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> johnny vs. the universe!  
> also i've updated the tags... and the start of a new universe is at the end... so [let me know what you think and if you're piecing stuff together... i'm here to listen](https://curiouscat.me/eatthatup)!  
> (thanks for reading and supporting my works!!!! i'll be forever thankful <3<3)

Deep down, Johnny is aware the presence of Yuta after _years_ isn’t precisely what shocks him.

It’s not exactly the closeness that make his skin crawl, Johnny convinces himself. Not Ten’s half-lidded eyes, hazy, in _love_ —nor Yuta’s soft but teasing smile, as if he knows something Johnny doesn’t. As if Johnny is just an outsider. That thought, being inevitably unimportant, is what brings a thieving cold to steal any heat left in his body. A cold bucket of water thrown at him, suddenly, giving Johnny no time to prepare.

He struggles to breathe once Ten’s eyes lock with his.

“ _God_ , sorry,” flushed from head to toe, Ten scrambles to push Yuta away and speak normally. “It was his fault.”

“ _Wasn’t_ me,” Yuta mumbles. It awakens memories that make the situation even more ridiculous.

“You are the one who wanted to cook for me at _8 a.m_!”

Johnny stares and unconsciously pinches the side of his thigh. Nothing happens.

“Well, excuse me for wanting to be a good boyfriend,” as he reaches behind Ten, grabbing a mug, their noses brush.

It’s not the contact, it’s not the banter. Johnny’s stomach simply churns (and mentally justifying himself doesn’t work anymore, so if it hurts, Johnny doesn’t question why). 

“Sorry for waking you up,” Ten starts. “Go back to sleep, if you want.”

Noticing the pan still on the floor, which Johnny now guesses must’ve been the cause of the loud noise, Ten bends down and picks it up. Behind him, Yuta is diligently preparing coffee. Yet, all the while, Johnny hasn’t been able to close his mouth, or even begin to allow his brain to think about anything but _Yuta being Ten’s boyfriend._

So an entire minute must’ve passed that prompts Ten to fill the breathless silence. 

“Dreamt anything?”

Johnny wishes. 

“No.”

After giving him a quizzical look, Ten unrelents and goes back to whatever he was doing. Thankfully, as far as it seems, it doesn’t include sucking faces with Yuta, and so Johnny sets his limbs in motion, reacting, processing the situation—the thoughts that Johnny doesn't allow to take over him, incoherent and messy. Ten laughs at something Yuta says, inaudible to him (because he's too immersed in his reverie, or because they are inside their own bubble, and Johnny is an _outsider_ ), and fighting the numbness that prevents him from being fully functional becomes wearying. Then he realizes standing in the middle of the kitchen won't do any good to his overworked mind.

"I'll be... Outside."

Both their faces contort into some sort of worried, puzzled expression. But Johnny can't bring himself to care. Air, clean and Ten-less, is needed. 

Facing once again the gray couch only pulls him harsher down to reality, though at this point Johnny is way too used to it. Too used to being punched in the stomach without warning. Now it's just another change that he must come to terms with. As well as Yuta’s return, their lovey-dovey interactions, the polaroids, the drawings. 

He inhales as soon as the door is open and he places one foot outside. One thing that hasn’t changed, as far as he’s aware, is the small and quiet town. The empty streets and the few familiar faces are all a constant to Johnny, same-old local stores that live off the handful of customers that frequent it (Johnny’s mom is nearly best friends with the owner of the bakery around the corner, and his dad gets discounts at the nearest greengrocer), and, lastly, his own house. It’s not as if he hasn’t considered it before, but Ten’s absence was a bit more time-consuming than checking if his home was still _there_. 

It is, decaying as always, age-worn walls contrasting against his mother’s lively garden outside. Johnny spots his favorite flowers, yellow carnations that are hard to miss, and fill him with a warm feeling despite the coldness that doesn’t wear off. 

Before impulsively doing anything, such as running off and crying to his probably-unaware mom, detaching himself from Ten’s place where he can verify Ten is still with him (or Yuta, or whatever)—he pats his back pockets and _magically_ , his phone is there. Johnny only recalls using it before all of the events happened, but doubting such a simple glitch in his memories is useless. He can go with it. 

Texting, now, serves as a diary of sorts. 

Every message sent is permanently archived in a conversation, and once Johnny scrolls up through his and Ten’s chat, it’s a testimony. Evidence.

 _Yesterday 13:01_  
**Johnny  
**How did it go??

 **Ten  
**idk… i haven’t asked him yet

 **Johnny  
**He’s your boyfriend

 **Ten  
**ok and?

 **Johnny  
**I’ll be at the rooftop

 **Ten  
**okie

 _Today 09:51_  
**Johnny  
**I’m going home

 **Ten  
** is everything ok?  
srsly tell me  
i won’t call you crazy i swer

For the first time, in his lifetime or this alternate reality, Johnny chooses to lie. To hide and pretend, to be by himself. 

 **Johnny  
** It’s ok I’m over it I think  
I keep having nightmares but I’ll just ask mom

 **Ten  
**she’s probably asleep ?

 **Johnny  
**It’s 9am

 **Ten  
**isn’t there like a 12 hour difference with chicago

Johnny stops dead in his tracks. 

His only hope left, his anchor. A savior, an advisor. Losing (or, worse, simply having to play along with his mother being _away_ ) her hurts in a way that hasn’t hurt before, different from Ten, a pain so sharp it’s nearly torture. Johnny notices his grip on his phone tightening and stops himself before he breaks it in half, which is very possible, and begins to walk faster without taking his eyes off his house. They remain glued to it while his mind wishes, over and over, for his mother to be inside. 

Opening the door tentatively feels foreign to him, being hesitant to enter his own home is atypical, but the fear of what awaits goes beyond what Johnny could’ve ever imagined. So used to a routine, to coming home to loving and embracing arms, to sweet words and useful, wise advice. 

It’s a deep plunge to walk into the kitchen and find his father, his overwhelming presence, happily cutting onions.

“Oh, hey,” he smiles at Johnny, as wide as ever. Yet Johnny knows there’s _something_ missing. 

Once again, lying seems to be the best option. Or at least pretending. He won’t allow himself to mess up just for the sake of discovering a level-headed explanation. 

“Hey, I—” Johnny gulps, “I’m not that hungry, so I’ll go lay down for a bit.”

“Everything alright, John?” 

Johnny doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anymore. 

Merely nodding, he strolls towards his room, a neutral expression that gradually fades into a sad, pathetic pout. He feels like a grounded kid with no other choice but to obey and remain quiet, staring idly at a wall out of boredom. Though his case is a little bit more extreme—he’s not grounded, but being forced to stay in a reality that’s not _his_ , no complaining, no actions taken, no apparent way back. And once he passes by his parent’s room, it’s instantly noticeable that his mother doesn’t live there. 

As if she doesn’t exist.

Inside his own room, things don’t seem to be different. Until he closely inspects the portrait Johnny (alternate-reality Johnny, actually) keeps by his bed, and observes the inconsistent background. The only family Johnny has in Chicago always comes visit for New Year’s celebrations, and it’s routinely spent in Korea, but the tall buildings illuminated by coloured fireworks are definitely not the view Johnny is used to see from his rooftop. His mother smiling, though, brings a similar curve to his lips. 

(Johnny exhales now, his chest decompressing). 

It’s rather obvious that Johnny can’t put on a false front and act as if this is _his_ reality, _his_ life, without being certain of his own personality, so he makes it his task to investigate himself as much as possible. Like reading a script, learning a character’s quirks and habits—Johnny will then attempt to play along. 

Of course, Johnny owns a few photos with Yuta, too. Hugging, laughing, all happy and normal. At this point, it’s not as unsettling as before, but Johnny is still dealing with the remnants of the utter shock he went through, so seeing someone he hasn’t met in a long time beside him, arm around his shoulders, comfortable and untroubled is a bit startling. And then, he feels completely alone. Unaware parents, unaware friends. Whether he’s gone insane, living in a dream, or going against the laws of nature; Johnny is alone. The thought isn’t any healing. 

As he’s about to look through the stack of CD’s on his desk, his phone suddenly rings. 

Johnny feels it vibrate before the default ringtone echoes around his room. That’s another distinction. The ringtone Johnny knows too well is a children’s song that Ten once set as a joke but he grew weirdly attached to it and never changed it. This Johnny did, apparently. 

On the screen, the contact’s name reads ‘ _Mom_ ’. 

“Johnny! Baby, hi,” her voice fills the deepest and darkest corners of his fading heart, “where were you?”

It’s an awkward question. And all Johnny wants to do is rant to her. 

“Uh, why?” His restrained voice is even audible to him, he can only hope his perceptive mother doesn’t _perceive_. 

“I’ve been calling you all day!”

Johnny sighs. Tears well up. “I didn’t hear, sorry, I—”

Giggling, she’s quick to reassure Johnny, probably hearing the slight desperation in his tone, “don't worry, honey! Are you okay?”

There’s someone speaking in English that makes Johnny feel even more far away. 

“I am, I just—”

“Wait for me! I’ll be there in a bit,” she interrupts Johnny to tell someone off, in English, clearly. He feels as if his life is a mere joke. 

“Do you ever feel out of your mind?”

Some sort of thoughtful silence blankets them. “Sometimes,” she starts, “y’know, being away from my family is hard, I spend too much thinking about details that are not important. You start second-guessing everything and then… Things are suddenly not what you imagined. It was mostly in your head but you feel like it’s all very, very real. Johnny, you need to stop thinking too much, okay? Is there something bothering you?”

“No… I guess not,” Johnny reflects, “it’s not bothering me, it’s driving me insane.” 

“You’re analyzing it too much, right?” 

“It doesn’t make sense. I need it to make sense, mom,” a single tear slides down his cheek. It’s, maybe, as sad as it gets. 

“Sometimes things don’t make sense and that’s okay, honey, let them be.”

And inwardly, Johnny knows that’s the solution. To let it be, to act, to find Ten. The real Ten, which he’s been wishing still _exists_ since it all began. But it’s hard to not go rabid over the bizarre incident that has messed with his deepest knowledge of what’s real and what’s not. It’s hard, that’s all. 

(And heartbreaking, tiring, a mix of feelings and none are good). 

“I don't know,” he murmurs, “how do I let it go?”

“Fake it till you make it, right?” 

It makes him smile, strangely. The saying, her advice, soft and honeyed voice. A sense of comfort fills him gradually, the air inside his lungs warming up, and once Johnny exhales he feels some uneasiness leave his body.

“Okay, I guess, I…”

“You can tell me everything, Johnny,” she reminds him, “call me whenever you want, okay? No matter if it's 3 a.m here.” 

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The line goes dead. Or his ears do. Johnny is sure her mother continues her goodbye but he's not listening—too lost in his own mind. Too busy thinking about the surreal mess he got himself into (well, Ten did, but Johnny tagged along to whatever adventure he chose this time, not minding the implications). That loneliness that had overtaken him for a moment dissipates slowly, tentatively, it's not as strong as before—a breathless feeling. Johnny stops panicking for once and relishes in the echo of his mother’s voice inside his head, wiping the dried tears away, allowing his lungs to fully expand. He's aware there's always light at the end of the tunnel.

It's just a matter of finding it. 

With new-found strength, he sends Ten a text. 

 _Today 11:11_  
**Johnny  
**Are you still with Yuta?

 **Ten  
** we’re watching a movie  
wanna join?

 **Johnny  
**No thanks

 **Ten  
** is everything ok?  
wanna talk? like a Talk

 **Johnny  
** I guess  
How am I like?

 **Ten  
**what do you mean??

 **Johnny  
** In the eyes of others   
How would you describe me?

 **Ten  
** wow you need a talk  
listen i’ll be at yours in like 10  
wait for me at the rooftop?

 **Johnny  
**Which rooftop?

 **Ten  
**yours??? as always

 **Johnny  
**Righht ok

 **Ten  
**you better tell me whats going on or i swear

 **Johnny  
** Yeah  
  
Truthfully, Johnny isn’t planning on telling him the entire truth. Ten’s first reaction wasn’t the most pleasing, and he’s not in the mood to be told to calm down. (And he pictures himself in Ten’s shoes—his best friend desperately trying to explain an unexplainable situation, claiming he disappeared, painfully lost and confused. Johnny would just panic, making the situation worse. So, he’s not judging Ten). 

He pockets his phone, praying it stays with him throughout his journey, and peeks out from behind the door. It’s silent. As if Johnny lives alone, his house appears to be inhabited by ghosts. Usually there’s a soap opera playing as background noise, which Johnny’s mother pays half-attention to, and distant voices from a phone call or his parents _existing_. Now he guesses his father must be sleeping, which isn’t odd, but reminds Johnny of the inaccuracies that exist in this world compared to his. 

The view is breathtaking. 

It’s not common for him (the real Johnny) to frequent his rooftop, so the neighbouring houses painted before his eyes are some sort of revelation. It’s a beautiful landscape that he never got to appreciate, and as he leans over the rail and spots the infamous farmhouse, it becomes a sign to notice. Wishing to magically go back doesn’t work anymore, Johnny is aware, but staring at it and recalling how quickly it all turned upside down makes his chest tighten instantly. Johnny just wants to lay down and get drunk with Ten until they doze off. 

Clearly, that’s not happening any time soon. Johnny knows. He breathes in, closes his eyes, and turns around, back against the rail. 

As dazzling as ever (as the two times Johnny has seen it), the light shines back brightly at him, haunting. Right next to a folding chair, in a secluded corner, it beams incessantly. Johnny feels dizzy. Shivers going down every nook of his body, cooling down the warmth he worked hard to achieve, stealing the air in his lungs—he feels tears pricking his eyes, yet they don’t fall. 

There are no holdbacks as Johnny approaches it now (after all, what’s there to lose?), determined steps, even some anger oozing through his veins and knitting his eyebrows together, unwavering. 

His hands start trembling once he feels his eyelids drooping, an involuntary reaction to the strong light being so close to him. Johnny is well-aware of what he’s doing, but clueless of what awaits. And that’s exactly what washes away any courage he could’ve mustered. It leaves him shaking like a leaf, a tiny, abandoned puppy under the rain. (But there’s no rain, no puppies, no leaves—just an apparent portal to another reality, different dimensions, different versions of his best friend. Nothing out of this world.)

It’s seemingly the same experience as before. Johnny’s vision goes white for a few moments, no tingling or numbing, and it lasts no more than three seconds. Then, Johnny opens his eyes expecting to encounter his room, his belongings, same-old portraits and jackets hanging on his coat rack, maybe a different colour on the walls, black curtains instead of white. Small, undetectable details. 

First thing he notices is his striped covers, familiar and comfortable, so Johnny mentally breathes a sigh of relief. Focusing on the rest of the place is a mistake. It’s clearly not Johnny’s room. Besides the gray walls and a wooden, bunk bed, it’s also messier. Clothes on the floor and dangling from the stool, some books scattered across the desk. And—his chest feels considerably warm. It feels heavy, a pressure on top. 

Johnny looks down at the mess of dark hair resting on his upper body. The person grumbles, moves as if to find a better position, hugs his waist tighter, and evidently gives up. Eyes open, brown, homely like morning coffee. 

Ten stares back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on [tw](https://twitter.com/ten__wv)!

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tw](https://twitter.com/ten__wv)!


End file.
